


1920s

by TheThilde



Series: A century of Femlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Femlock, John is named Jean, Pre-Slash, but Sherlock's still Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThilde/pseuds/TheThilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John (Jean) and Sherlock meet again. Again with the help of Mike Stamford, but this time they're women. And it's 1920s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1920s

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet goes with the 4th illustration from the cycle 'A century of Femlock', which I'm posting on my tumblr (@thethilde). It's a series of illustrations of Johnlock in every decade of 20th century, this one is set in the twenties. I intend to write some more ficlets describing their first meetings, it's my first attempt at fanfiction, so feedback is appreciated! :)

Johnie strides in step with Mike, keeping up effortlessly despite her quite high heels and aching leg. It plays up in most inopportune moments, but she knows that if she doesn’t sway her hips and keeps her pace decisive, she won’t be in too much pain and will appear perfectly allright. Her gait screams efficiency, at least at those who pay attention. She opens her mouth to ask, if the rooms are still far away, but shuts it, as Mike stops abruptly in front of black wooden doors with brass ‘221B’ nailed on them. He doesn’t bother knocking, just opens the door and gestures her in.

“Mrs Hudson, the landlady is visiting her sister, just come in, up the stairs, don’t knock their either, you’ll be ignored,” Mike instructs her holding the door open. “Say I send you, but you probably won’t need too.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“No, I’ve got to go back to St. Bart’s, don’t worry, you should be fine.”

“Thank you Mike.”

“You’re welcome. Probably. Well good bye and good luck!”

“Should I need it..?”

“Well it certainly won’t hurt” he shouts over his shoulder, already jogging back towards the hospital.

Jean closes the door behind her, turns towards the stairs, squares her shoulders and climbs up. She opens the door and comes in, demonstrating confidence, which she definitely is not feeling. She leaves the door open, just in case she needs to run. She takes in the room. It’s quite dark, the only source of light a single lit lamp near the fireplace. Beside it a tall woman is standing, scratching her calf with her shoe. She’s absolutely stunning, Jean decides even though she has her back to the entrance. The woman has fashionably styled soft-looking black curls, long earrings and a dress that is long enough not to be indecent, but also sheer around the knees, so people of tastes more conservative than Jean would definitely huff. She’s going through a box full of tchotchkes, every once in a while throwing one over, where it clatters on the floor. She‘s doing it very quickly, so it only takes her half a minute to find what she’s been looking for. With an exclamation of tryumf she grabs the thing and throws in Jean’s general direction. Instinctively, she reaches out and grabs it. She raises her eyes to see the woman’s grinning reflection in the mirror hanging over the mantle.

“Excellent reflexes... You’ll do.” She says still beaming.

“I’m sorry..?”

“No time to waste, I’ll explain on the way“ she announces and strides past Jean, taking the thing, which turns out to be a square looking glass, out of her hands. Jean follows and asks “Wha... Sorry? I mean where, I mean sorry my name’s Jean Watson and I’m...”

The woman’s abrupt stop cuts her words. “You’re a nurse, only newly arrived in London, after stationing somewhere in the south of Europe, France probably, for at least four, probably five years, after some traumatic event gave you a stress-related limp, which you hide well due to your family’s military history. Speaking of family, it must have been the death of your drunk brother, who you dragged along, that made you return to England and immidiately look for a job and a place to stay, wanting a fresh start and all that. You decided to look into teh first offer that comes your way, which was provided by our mutual friend Mike Stamford, to whom I have just this morning mentioned that I’m looking for a flatmate. So as you see, I know quite a lot about you, intruductions are really unnecessary.”

“Brilliant!” Jean exclaimed.

“Hardly”, said the woman, a discreet blush staining her sharp cheekbones, already pushing Jean in the direction of the door. She forced the woman to stand.

“Sorry, how..? Actually, nevermind, what’s more important is that I still don’t even know your name, Mike didn’t tell me.”

“Oh. It’s Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. And it is actually a girl’s name.”

“Never would have thought otherwise.”

“Fine then. Can we go now? We’re already late!”

“Where are we going?”

“A Spanish prince’s birthday banquet. There’s been a murder, come on, let’s go!” Sherlock shouted hopping down the stairs. Jean thought about the consequences of this decision for solid ten seconds, before shouting “Allright” after her new friend and following her down the stairs for what she was certain wouldn’t be the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it, I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Please let me know what you think :)


End file.
